


Zeichenkohle

by ThreePipePr0blem (7percent)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Harm to Animals, M/M, Other, Pony Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7percent/pseuds/ThreePipePr0blem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has always loved horses, so why has he blinded six of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shipwreck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreck/gifts).



> After a conversation with girlsinkhearts I wrote this fic. I hope that it will meet your expectations. I don't know how long this fic will be, and I have based it upon a play that is known to be disturbing. 'Equus' by Peter Shaffer, I recommend it. I also have no beta so all mistakes are my own. I also don't ride horses so the terminology may be incorrect, feel free to correct me and I'll change it.

“So let me get this straight, you blinded six horses. Six horses, Sherlock! Why would you even think that was a sane thing to do?” John exclaimed at the high functioning sociopath. Sherlock was sat on the green leather chair he favoured in 221b, dressed in a blue satin robe, but the clothes underneath this were covered in two liquids. One a viscous crimson, the other a crusting off-white colour. The flat had the stench of iron and sex wafting through it, when John had first noticed the strong odour emitting from the living room of their flat in Baker Street he had opened the cold-frosted window to let the city's winter air in an attempt to remove the smell from their presence. It stunk of cold blooded murder.

Sherlock looked up to the doctor with a foreign look upon his face. It was not a look you would usually see in the detective's pale grey eyes, regret. Sherlock Holmes regretted what he had done. He was normally a man who was so sure of himself, and would do what he wanted with no second thought. John felt a pang of guilt hit his lower stomach. He didn't mean to shout at Sherlock, but who would go out and blind six horses. The older man didn't think he could forgive Sherlock if he has uttered the word 'experiment.' Instead of carrying on demanding answers from his flatmate, John sat on the floor opposite Sherlock and put a hand on his foot, trying to show comfort only scaring the younger man. Long limbs protected the smooth pale chest of the sociopath, a voice in John's mind wanted to call him a psychopath, but even Sherlock must have a reason for this. No matter how peculiar.

“Kill me.” These were the only words uttered in the flat and they had taken John by shock.  
“Sherl-”  
“Kill me!” He yelled. His hands gripped his head tightly and he slowly started to rock his lithe body backwards and forwards. That wasn't what made John's heart clench the most. What hurt John was the fact throughout the insistent rocking of his best friend he saw a few tears travel down those high cheekbones. The contrast of the salty water and Sherlock's too pale skin was strangely beautiful, something the ex-army doctor had never thought about his flatmate. Of course had noticed that Sherlock was good looking, but to be beautiful, that is a completely different thing. It was a heart breaking sight.

“John... I'm sorry.” A soft sniff could be heard behind the tangled arms that Sherlock had used to cover his face. He didn't want to show John how much this bothered him. How much it hurt him to know he had done wrong in the eyes of his only friend. He didn't want to be a failure to John. It was John who had taught him to be human, now ruined by having one night where he allowed his emotions to take control. He was always so careful to make sure that he hid emotions away. Although that had all changed when Mike had introduced the crime solving duo. “I did it for you.”

John could feel the bile rising up in his throat. He quickly got up and ran to the kitchen sink. The retching sounds were the worst sounds Sherlock had ever heard. It was worse than the screeching of his violin when he wanted to annoy Mycroft as a child. It was that memory that his mind drifted to the first time he encountered a horse, and how much he fell in love with the majestic creatures.

*

The first time Sherlock Holmes had encountered a horse was when he was a young boy, no older than five. His mother had decided that she would take him down to the Holmes stables one summers day when Mycroft had one of his many horse riding lessons. It was a well known fact that the Holmes family owned a stable, and that the horses that resided there were winners in most categories at shows. Sibyl Holmes had taken her two children towards the stable when the youngest Holmes had noticed a lone grey stallion in the field. He had stopped, holding his mothers hand, mesmerized by it's beauty. It stood tall on it's tall strong legs and had glanced towards the Holmes boy, it was right at that moment that Sherlock knew that horses would become a large part of his life. The stallion had large brown eyes that seemed to peer into the boy's soul, slowly sucking it from him. The curly haired boy felt his hand being tugged and had followed his mother and brother towards the stables where they had kept the horses. There where many breeds of horse that the Holmes' took care off, Sherlock was given a young foul to start his riding lessons with. Sherlock had been reluctant to ride at first, clinging onto his mother's leg begging her not to let him. It wasn't until Mycroft had pulled his younger brother on to his horse, and rose with him that Sherlock realised that he rather enjoyed horse ridding.

Over the years over his childhood Sherlock trained the foul and had named him Zeichenkohle, due to the animal's charcoal coat. He had won many show jumping competitions, a achievement that surprised no one due to the long line of elitist horses that Holmes' had brought up for generations. It was only natural for Sherlock to have the same skill as the rest of his family. Slowly Sherlock lost interest in the horses and by the age of fourteen the teenager had moved on from riding horses to his chemistry set that his father had gotten him. Sherlock soon became obsessed with chemical formulas, and the scientific theories of famous scientists. His walls, once covered by horse posters and drawings of himself and Zeichenkohle where hidden by a poster of the periodic table and his scientific idols.

However he felt guilty. He felt guilty that he had left his childhood friend for another interest. Sherlock was not one who normally felt guilt, but while laying in his bed at night the feeling would eat him apart. On one winter's night the teenager decided he would take a trip down to the Holmes estate stables and confront his long missed friend. During his riding hiatus Sherlock had researched about his faithful animal. Zeichenkohle was an Iranian Caspian horse. His father had imported a Caspian mare and bred her to make sure that his two sons would have horses of their own. As he slowly approached the stables, he could hear the soft sighs from the residing horses. Feather light feet stepped upon the cobbled path towards Zeichenkohle's stable. Long, thin fingers worked the latch and the wooden door whined as he pushed it open. Sherlock wondered up to the horse, who was now at his prime age. He stroked his midnight black mane, and threaded his fingers into it. He looked into the dark eyes of the majestic creature. The teenager walked back outside the stable, leaving the door open and walked towards a shed on the opposite side of the stables. Inside the shed, he grabbed the dark, leather coated saddle, placing it upon on of his arms and carried the brit and bridal in his hands. He brought these over to the horse who had stepped out into the courtyard of the stables slightly. Sherlock got him ready and rode out into the darkness of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd all mistakes are mine.

John wiped the vomit from round his lips. He stood leaning against the sink, his arms and legs felt as though they would collapse if John let go of the sink. Sherlock had said that he had blinded those six horses for him. For John. Why would he do such an inhumane thing for John. Bile started to rise back up John's throat but he tried to push it back down. Sherlock was human, John knew this. What ever drove the consulting detective to do such a horrid act upon these animals must have pushed him to the edge.

John groped for a glass, once finding one covered in small flecks of dust, he pushed it under the tap and filled it with water. He washed his mouth out, and spat out the, now acidic water into the sink, followed by taking a small sip of the glorious liquid and turned back towards his flatmate. The fresh, cool liquid was pure pleasure slipping down John's throat. Dark blue eyes caught the lost look in grey. Sherlock jumped when he felt a hand on kneecap and saw the doctor looking down at him with care in his eyes. The sociopath opened and closed his mouth, trying to form words but only one slipped out.

“Ek.” There was a pregnant pause, the utterance that came from Sherlock's mouth had been so frail and broken, as though it shouldn't have been there at all. The detective looked up with red rimmed eyes. John had never seen his friend like this. He slowly and softly grabbed hold of one of his long thin hands and rubbed circles of comfort into them. John then moved one of Sherlock's arms down towards the armrest, then did the same with the other. All that was left that protected Sherlock was his endless legs. He held the detective's left foot, massaging the balls of his foot and slowly lowered his foot towards the itchy carpet of the living room. Sherlock sighed softly.

“I-”

“You blinded six horses...”

“Yes. I-”

“For ...me?”

“John... I couldn't let them see the things I was doing.”

“Sherlock?” The younger man sighed and removed his right foot from his favourite chair. Before he could word a sentence together, Sherlock remembered one night when he was fifteen and had taken his beloved creature out to the forest one night.

 

*

 

Sherlock clung tightly onto Zeichenkohle's strong neck, he could feel the perspiration seep from the horses body onto his own, passing easily through his light clothing. The majestic creature was pressed up close to the teens body, and the vibrations of riding were not helping the young boy's anatomy. They closed in on a small passage, hidden by golden tress with speckles of reds and oranges where autumn had attacked what used to be a brilliant green leafed tree. The young boy dismounted his transport and removed his helmet. Black curls fell onto his face, covering his eyes slightly. Soft neighs could be heard as Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his loose fitting shirt, not taking his eyes off the prize for one minute. The creature snorted slightly, turning his head away from the boy. Sherlock walked up towards the animal, and moved it's head towards his own. He softly placed his lips upon Zeichenkohle's. His first kiss, with the only person who understood him in this world. Sherlock looked into his mate's eyes. Peering into his soul, Sherlock could tell that this majestic creature wanted it as much as he did.

The teen removed the two lengths of rope from around his waist, he had tied it there before he left the Holmes estate that evening. He carefully removed the shirt he had previously opened. As the boy reached for his trousers he noticed the animal shift, slowly descending towards the ground, sitting there waiting for it's master to finish undressing. Shirt on the mud filled ground and trousers around his ankles, Sherlock removed his riding boots, slowing caressing them as he pulled the pieces of string away from each other, the boots becoming less constricting on his long, thin legs. Shaking his legs, Sherlock removed the material that was hanging around his ankles and stood in the secluded area with nothing but his boxer shorts on. He stalked over to the animal. Grabbing the rope, Sherlock tied up his friend's hind and front legs. He didn't want the majestic creature to react in a violent way. Sherlock had planned the most devious of plans. He wanted to pleasure the horse. Curiosity got the better of the teenager. He had heard from other boys about woman and how one could pleasure a man if certain things where done, so Sherlock couldn't see why his most faithful companion couldn't do that for him too. Sherlock wasn't naïve, he knew what he was doing with Zeichenkhole was wrong on many levels. That didn't stop him though.

The boy grabbed hold of solid flesh, feeling the muscles flex under his hands. He caressed the creature beneath him and slowly entered his hard length into the anus that presented itself to him. There was no need for preparation. Sherlock moved his hips slowly, deeper into Zeichenkhole, until all of this manhood was inside him. A shuddering breath came from the young boy's lips.

This was a new experience for Sherlock. Not once had the boy thought about pleasure himself like this. He also had never though about pleasuring anyone else for that matter. The boy was aware of how to pleasure himself, but he never thought that it would be this good. The added thought that he might be caught doing this sin by midnight walkers sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. Hips thrust faster, moans became louder and before Sherlock had the chance to connect with these new found feelings, he came. It was a quick release. The teen pulled out and slumped towards the ground, petting his horse affectionately. That's when Sherlock noticed it out of the corner of his eye. His beloved horse had an erection. The long thick length intrigued the teen, so he reached out with shaky hands and touched it. The horse made a noise that one would describe as a moan.

Sherlock tightened his hand slightly and got the same response form Zeichenkhole. He removed his hand, and crawled into a better place to pleasure his friend. As soon as he positioned himself he laid a soft kiss upon the creature's strong, powerful leg. Shakily he grabbed the horses length once again and felt the weight in his hand. It was a lot different to his own. Slowly Sherlock found himself moving his hand up and down the length, increasing the pressure near the base of Zeichenkhole's penis while loosening it as he got to the tip. Sherlock could hear the soft sighs created by the horse, it tried to buck his legs, wanted to get away from the attention the boy was giving him. Sherlock didn't want to leave his friend frustrated due an act that he had started. He wanted his companion to feel the pleasure he had. So he sped up his hand movements, and soon a protest left the creature mouth, and he came.


End file.
